


The Dream

by deependlittleocean



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Also it's vague on purpose, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, M/M, Really we were just still in denial about Marco's death let's be real, Sad with a Happy Ending, Side Connie/Sasha if you squint, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 13:11:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deependlittleocean/pseuds/deependlittleocean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dear Love, for nothing less than thee, would I have broke this happy dream."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I wrote this after a discussion that a friend and I had over the conspiracy that Marco was alive. The prompt was more or less, "Marco being caught alive and having helped Annie/Bertolt/Reiner." So not an Alternate timeline, but Canon Divergence for sure! Anyways, I hope you all enjoy!

                 Jean really honestly could not believe their luck. He had thought the constant begging would only make things worse, but there he was listening to the verdict be read, and it wasn’t a death sentence. That’s all that mattered. It wasn’t a death sentence. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, and Connie’s hand had reached out to grasp his shaking one, trying his best to calm him down. Jean watched as Marco was roughly shoved through the doors that would eventually lead him back to his cell, their eye contact didn’t break once the entire time.

                “This is fucking shit.” Connie breathed out next to him, “Literal shit. Who the hell would have guessed Marco would have been in on the whole fucking thing?” He let Jean’s hand slip from his, and that was probably a good thing because Jean would have ripped his fingers off.

                “What do we do now?” Sasha asked, her usual boisterous voice and attitude subdued by the whole ordeal.

                Jean tensed again, “ _We,”_ Jean snapped, “Don’t do anything now. We got back to work and get on with our lives.” He snatched his jacket off of the chair behind him; he’d taken it off half way through the trial after becoming too hot, nerves or something he guessed. He left the others standing behind him as he stormed out of the room in a hurry.

 

***********

 

                He was beginning to think he was pushing his luck. The next time he asked when he could visit Marco, he was definitely going to be demoted to the lowest fucking rank they could possibly place him in, as if he wasn’t already cannon fodder as it was. The woman at the front desk where Marco was being held knew him by name already as he’d come in everyday for the past two weeks demanding visitation rights, because damn it even murderers got those and Marco hadn’t actually touched anyone.

                Jean watched as the woman’s expression immediately went steely when he walked through the doors and right up to her desk, “I demand to be given visitation rights.” He told her, his hands balled into fists, trying to keep his voice under control.

                “You’re not the one in a prison cell, you don’t have visitation rights.” She sighed, refusing to make eye contact with him while she went about her paperwork.

                “I demand that Marco Bodt be given visitation rights.” He tried again; surprised that he had kept his voice level.

                The woman only gave him another withering glance before asking him, “Did you ever think that he doesn’t want visitors?” and no, Jean had never thought about that, but he wouldn’t because this woman was obviously a damn liar.

                Jean took the few strides to the other side of the room, choosing to sit in the exact same chair that he sat in every other time. He sat tall and rigid, looking forward, his jacket folded over his arms. Every ten minutes he would glance over like clockwork to check the time, and like always he would run out of it far too soon and be forced to leave before he could see Marco’s face.

                Jean wasn’t a fan of change. He hated it actually, it meant he had to adapt to something when he’d already spent time and effort adapting to something else, but today, he welcomed change in the form of the woman at the front desk, whose name he never asked for, sighing at a coworker as she made shifty glances towards Jean’s figure.

                He could feel his palms starting to sweat and his legs start to jitter just a bit as she made her way towards him, she stopped just a few feet shy of his bouncing leg, “You’ll have to leave your jacket and anything else on you up here, and you’ll have to sign in, but they’ll take you back to see him now.”

                Jean nearly shot out of his chair, handing the woman his jacket, he hadn’t bothered to bring anything else with him. He signed the visitor’s page with sloppy chicken scratch as quickly as he could, and was being led back to the cells, and before he realized it, they had stopped at a small wooden bench situated in front of one of the cells towards the end of the hall.

                Jean took a deep breath before taking the final step to stand in front of the cell. The man who had led him back there made no move to give them privacy, and Jean guessed he should have never expected it to begin with. Instead he ignored the bench behind him completely to kneel as close to the cell bars as he thought the guard would let him.

                Marco was sitting on a small wooden cot, the thinnest blanket, less than a sheet really, covering it. He was sure it would give him early onset arthritis the longer he laid there. He let his eyes wonder over the other boy’s body, noticing that nothing was really different at all. The same gangly looking limbs, the same freckled face, the same full mouth that was turned up slightly at the corners in a nervous smile.

                He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out and after a good 10 seconds he shut it again. Jean could feel his fingers start picking at the end of his sleeves. It was a horrible nervous tick he had that wore out most of his clothes in the end. He took a deep breath before stating, clear and outright, “This is stupid, we’re friends.”

                Marco just looked at him, his lips turning up again, “Are we?” he asked quietly looking everywhere but in Jean’s eyes. He’d never had a problem looking him in the eyes before.

                “You’re a damned idiot of course we are.”

                Marco looked like he wanted to get up, like he wanted to cross the cell so that he could stand closer to Jean, but the guard was still right there so he didn’t bother standing up from his cot, “That’s good. I’m… I’m happy to hear that Jean, I really am.”

                A sudden wave of anger hit Jean then, “This is so fucking stupid Marco. What are we doing? Making small talk now?”

                Marco looked away, not that he had been looking at Jean in the first place, he looked mildly ashamed at the whole situation though, “I’m sorry.” He murmured at the ground.

                “You should be. You fucking should be Marco.” Jean took a deep breath, trying to calm himself before starting up again, “Did anyone ever tell you that I found your “body”? Because if they didn’t, news for you I did. I found your mangled “body” thrown up against the side of a building and I thought to myself, this can’t be right. This can’t be Marco.” He let out a shaky breath, “But it was. I mean I thought it was. The fucking nurse though, came out of nowhere, practically told me that if I didn’t know your name then I should scram and get back to damage control somewhere else. I had to tell her your name Marco. I had to watch them throw you into a wagon with a hundred other bodies because we were soldiers and we don’t get special treatment, and all you have to say for yourself is you’re sorry?”

                Marco looked like he had just been stricken, and it immediately made Jean feel guilty. He’d never really seen that look on Marco’s face, someone who was always an optimist, and he’d put it there himself, “I am sorry though Jean.” He said quietly, “I’m sorry for what I did, I’m sorry that you had to be the one to see that. I thought it’d go unnoticed. That you all would just figure it out because I wouldn’t have shown up for days. I never meant for this to happen.”

                “Well it fucking happened Marco!” He’d finally lost his temper, “It happened, and you could have done something about it! I’m glad you told them all you knew since it saved you from a fucking execution squad, but you could have ended it way before that! Did you even think of us!? Did you think of Connie and Sasha? Or of Armin and Mikasa and even that fucking brat? And what about me Marco? Did you ever think about me!?” Jean heaved in a breath after his yelling and settled himself, “It doesn’t fucking matter anymore Marco.” He turned on his heel and left before giving Marco a chance to say anything else.

 

**************

 

                The next day, Jean didn’t go back, or the next day, or the next. He really shouldn’t have been surprised when Connie had found him on their lunch break, Sasha tagging along right behind him. They threw themselves into seats next to him at the table he’d been skulking at.

                “How come you stopped going to see Marco? They’d just finally let you in!” Connie exclaimed.

                “Why’d you never try to see him at all?” Jean shot back, and it really was a low blow, he knew it was, but Connie seemed to take it all in stride.

                “Figured you wouldn’t want any company if they did let you in.”

                “We saw him yesterday though.” Sasha piped up, “He’s not doing so well is he?” She sighed reaching over and grabbing a bread roll off of Jean’s plate.

                “What do you mean he’s not doing so well? He looked fine the last time I saw him,” as fine as someone who was thrown indefinitely into jail could look anyways.

                “The lady at the front desk,” Sasha said around the bite of bread in her mouth, “Told us he hadn’t been eating. Asked us to try and convince him to eat or drink something.”

                “Even a dead criminal looks bad.” Connie sighed, “Did you two have a fight or something?” he asked casually, like none of the past couple of months had happened at all.

                “No we did not have a fight. He’s a fucking asshole and I told him as much.” Jean spat, really starting to want to run away from Connie and Sasha’s pitying looks.

                Connie let out a frustrated moan, “Look, this whole entire situation is fucked up okay? It’s fucking Marco and no one thought he could even step on a fucking ant hill, but he practically kicked the entire thing over and stomped on the ants trying to get away.”

                “You’re really fucking horrible at trying to make people feel better.” Jean muttered.

                “Still, Marco is the same person we knew back then. Jean, listen, I don’t think Marco meant any of this to happen the way it did. I think… I think it got out of control; all of it did, didn’t it? With Bertolt and Reiner too? But even then, even in the heat of things we were willing to give them a second chance. They didn’t take it. Marco did though; he took the second chance and what you’re just going to keep it from him?” Connie watched him, trying to gauge his reaction before a frustrated yell slipped past his lips, “I fucking give up man.” Connie pushed away from the table and stretched before he walked away.

                Sasha lingered for a moment longer, Jean though to contemplate whether or not to try and steal more of his food but she just smiled, “You and Marco were best friends right? I don’t think people can just fake that kind of thing so easily.”

                Jean just stared after the two of them as they went on their way wondering when the two of them had grown the fuck up and he hadn’t noticed.

 

**********

 

 

                When Jean had woken up that day he had already made his decision. He’d pulled clothes on and was heading towards the building that held the cells before he really realized where he was going. Thankfully for him they didn’t really have any set visitation hours, and he was more or less off that day. Hurriedly slipping into the lobby to get out of the cold Jean made his way to the front desk and signed his name on the visitation sheet.

                He went to turn towards his chair and wait for the guard to come by and take him back, but the woman at the desk, looking tired and irritable as ever just huffed at him, “You can go on back.”

                Jean was about to ask about the guard, but if he didn’t need one, he wasn’t going to ask for one. He left his jacket and everything else he had on him with the woman before slipping through the doors to the right of her desk and heading back to the cell he knew would hold Marco. He was surprised to find no guards back there either. Deciding to use the bench situated across from the cell door this time, Jean sat himself down and peered into Marco’s cell. The sun hadn’t even rose outside yet, so the natural lighting wasn’t very great to begin with, so Jean could only make out a blurry outline of Marco’s body laying down on the cot.

                “I didn’t think you were going to come back.” And Jean had to stop himself from jumping at the sudden voice.

                “I wasn’t. I mean… I didn’t want to but Connie and Sasha, you know what, whatever. We’re fucking friends Marco, I wasn’t going to leave you here to rot for the rest of your life.”

                Marco just laughed and Jean really wished he could see his face, really wished he could see if Marco still licked his lips after he laughed, “I don’t think you have a choice Jean. I’m going to sit in here until I die. It’s my own fault though, I know that.”

                Jean didn’t like the way he was talking, didn’t like the subject either, so he changed it, “Where did the guards go?”

                Marco laughed again, this time a little fuller, a little more cheer, “Sasha and Connie said they think I charmed them. They didn’t follow the two of them back either. They only ever come to bring me food now and an occasional checking up on.”

                “Yeah well if anyone could do it, it’d be you. St. Marco.” Jean laughed teasingly and almost just like that they were back to being barely teenagers in bunks talking about joining the military police together. Jean pushed off of the bench and came to sit in front of the cell, as close as the bars as he could get, and he hadn’t needed to say anything because Marco was there on the other side in an instant.

                Jean let a ragged breath escape past his lips. It’d been so damn long since he’d been this close to Marco and his thoughts drifted back to sharing beds in the dead of night to keep warm in the winter air. Everything that had happened in the past months, it didn’t fucking matter anymore. Jean didn’t care because Marco was here, and he wasn’t dead, and that was better and more exhilarating then what he’d learned because of it.

                Jean wrapped his fingers around the cell bars, letting them hang there loosely, his forehead slumping forward to rest on the cold metal. He let out another shaky, but quiet, sob as he felt Marco’s own fingers gently come forward to wrap around his, his own forehead falling where Jean’s was on his side of the cell.

                “I didn’t mean what I said to you the last time I was here. I didn’t mean it. I was angry and fucking confused and I didn’t mean it.”

                “Dear love,” Marco started quietly, barely above a whisper, “for nothing less than thee, would I have broke this happy dream.” His fingers curled tighter around Jean’s, and there was just enough room to make it feel like they were holding hands.

                And Jean had no idea what he was talking about because Marco had always liked poetry and Jean had always thought it was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard, but the huskiness in Marco’s voice, and the way he was clinging to what little part of Jean he could reach was sending him over the edge of rational thought.

                “You can’t talk in poetry Marco, you know I hate that shit.” And it couldn’t have been possible, but Marco felt closer now than he had just moments ago. He laughed, and Jean was close enough this time to see that yes, he did still lick his lips after he laughed, and for some reason it was doing things to Jean’s stomach that it had never done before.

                Marco smiled against the bars, and Jean could really see his freckles up this close, finally, after so long. Subconsciously he began counting them, like he had always done when they were younger, “It means I love you. It means I love you and I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry Jean.” Marco began to shake himself, silent tears falling down his freckled face and he tried to scoot closer than the bars would let him.

                “Don’t say you’re sorry.” Jean lifted a hand to touch his cheek, so stroke what fingers he could get into his hair, “I’m happier that you’re alive than I am disappointed and angry about what happened.” He took a deep breath, “I’m not going to let you sit here for the rest of your life Marco, I’m going to get you out somehow.”

                Marco shook a little more and tilted his head to press his face against the bars, “Jean, Please.” And Jean had no idea what he was actually asking for, but he really hoped he was asking him for a kiss because that’s what he was going to get.

                Jean tilted his face up, and it was awkward as fuck trying to kiss someone when only half of your mouth could get to them, but he couldn’t fucking care right now because Marco wasn’t dead. Marco wasn’t dead, he was here, very much alive, and trying his best to kiss Jean through a jail cell. They pulled apart soon after, breath heavy and ragged.

                “That was the fucking worst first kiss I’ve ever had.” Jean snarked, and it was worth it to hear Marco laugh and to watch him lick his lips.

                He hummed in agreement, fingers slow and lazy as they traced against Jean’s knuckles, “Connie joked about us having Conjugal visits, I’m not quite sure how that would work out though.”

                “It doesn’t matter; you aren’t going to be in here for much longer if I can do anything about it. And I am, you know, going to do something about it.” Jean let his eyes slip closed, tried to think about a time where nothing was this fucked up, “I’m going to get you out of here Marco, and when I do, we’ll pick up the pieces left around us, and we’ll figure this whole thing out. I promise you.”

                Marco smiled, and Jean nearly couldn’t breathe with the way it shook him, “I know you will Jean. You keep your promises better than I ever did.” 

**Author's Note:**

> The few lines of poetry that Marco recites is from John Donne's "The Dream" is very beautiful, I would definitely recommend checking it out! Also, I listened to this (8tracks.com/morquensterns/in-the-mourning) playlist when I wrote this, it's absolutely amazing! The fic itself was a gift to Chasing-colors whose tumblr (of the same name!) you can find pretty easily.


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